


Spin the Truth or Dare

by bramble28



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Dean is bad with rules, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 07:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18132479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramble28/pseuds/bramble28
Summary: It’s been a long night, and you’d think that they wouldn’t be in the mood for games. But what do you do when your best friend clearly challenges you? Better judgement be damned.





	Spin the Truth or Dare

It had been a long night. Pre-show engagements had kept both Roman and Dean busy meeting fans and entertaining interviewers. Then came the actual show. They were exhausted but far from being able to go to sleep when they decided to go out. Now at nearly midnight they were seated at a small table in the corner of some restaurant, like a thousand others they had visited when most people were home. They had chosen the bar section to hide themselves away in, the dim lighting ensuring they really didn’t have to hide much to avoid being bothered. 

 

The waitress didn’t seem to have a clue who they were, which was also a bit of a relief. They had finished their food at least an hour ago and now were lingering in the bar over drinks. Going back to their shared hotel room wasn’t enticing at this point. It was just the same four walls, like this restaurant, that they’d seen a thousand times.

 

Roman is leaned back in his chair, twisted so that one fleece-covered elbow draped over the back. His attention was on a tv, mounted on the wall somewhere behind Dean, where the local sportscaster was running down results from the past weekend. Dean has his elbow on the table, his hand propping up his head. The easy conversation that always seems to just happen between the two of them had died out several minutes ago, replaced by an equally easy silence. Dean glances over Roman’s face briefly. He’s still watching the scores scrolling across the bottom of the screen but Dean can see his eyes starting to glaze over. At least he looks tranquil, his long hair falling down over his shoulders. For once, Dean feels loose too. Well, as much as he can be with his foot lightly tapping the floor under the table. It’s hard to be still when your brain runs at a million miles a minute on the regular, and lately that’s complicated by the fact that there’s always this smoldering feeling just under his skin when Roman is nearby. 

 

Dean has had the same beer bottle in the hand not holding up his head for the past 45 minutes. The waitress had brought him a glass but he couldn’t be bothered to use it. The bottle is empty now and he’s just lazily twirling the base of it against the table, holding it up by the neck. He expected Roman to notice the minute grating noise and level him with one of those glares that screams, “knock it off or I swear to God…” but no such luck. He can’t be satisfied with that right now so he lets the amber glass drop softly to lie flat on the table with a slight  _ plink _ . Without breaking the neutral expression on his face, Dean gives the neck of the bottle a tiny nudge.

 

Roman, hearing the light echo of glass on wood, looks away from the sportscast just in time to see the bottle slowly stop its half rotation. The neck of the bottle is now directed straight at him. Roman shifts his gaze up to Dean’s face.

 

Still rather neutral, Dean questions, “Truth or dare?”

 

Roman stares back at Dean for a moment before the tiniest of grins breaks on his lips. “I think you have the wrong game, Uce.”

 

Dean looks soberly at Roman. "I asked what I asked."

 

Roman decides it can’t hurt to play along. He inhales, rubbing his facial hair with one hand thoughtfully. He considers his options before he declares, “Truth.”

 

Dean’s mouth twists a little on one side, because honestly he’s suddenly thinking hard. He hadn’t actually prepared a question. That’s not his style. He just acted and hadn’t even considered if Roman would take the bait or gently laugh him off. He’s trying to decide what he can get away with.

 

“You want to pay the entire bill,” Dean finally says, so evenly and nonchalantly that Roman isn’t sure whether this is still part of the game. He knows Ambrose can be a shit, so he decides that this is probably the game opener. That or the whole thing was a ploy to get free dinner and drinks. 

 

“ _ No _ , but I will,” Roman all but growls across at Dean. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, counts out some cash, and places it next to their check. The slip of paper had been sitting on the table for 30 minutes with neither of them touching it, not being in a hurry. 

 

Making a faux-annoyed look at Dean, sighing, Roman reaches for the bottle. Dean sits up a bit, ready to protest but Roman heads him off. “You can’t be the only one playing here, man.”

 

Roman bumps the amber glass neck harder than he needs to, setting the bottle in motion. Dean sits up even straighter in his chair, eyes on the bottle. He’s holding his breath like he’s willing it to stop on him, as if he and Roman are not the only two people sitting there. After a dozen harrowing seconds it stops spinning, pointing about 45 degrees to Dean’s right. Dean actually looks disappointed, and Roman hates the look on him. He reaches out with one finger and slowly rotates the bottle to point toward Dean.

 

Dean breathes out a sigh, lets his chin fall to his chest, like it’s a huge relief. He shifts his eyes up, peering at Roman through his mussed bangs. He sees his best friend smiling fully at him.

 

“Truth or dare?” Roman queries.     

 

Dean gasps faintly. He actually momentarily forgot about the game. Roman’s smile is just so damn lovely.  “Dare,” he whispers loudly, almost a dare in itself for Roman to come up with something good for him.

 

Roman’s never felt the need to steal anything. He hasn’t ever had to and doubts he has the dexterity to do so discreetly. He wonders though if it would give him any sort of thrill to watch his closest friend do it with hands he knows are deft enough. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or that he’s tired, maybe it’s the knock he took to his head earlier… maybe because Dean is looking at him like he’s ready to make off with the Mona Lisa herself if Roman says to… he gestures at his discarded shot glass on the table. “Take it,” he dares. 

 

Dean looks disgruntled. He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect but lifting a shot glass from the bar wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.  _ But, what exactly did he have in mind anyway? _ Dean shifts around in his seat and huffs a few times before waving his hands in some sort of wild gesture at Roman, obviously telling him off wordlessly for such a lame dare.

 

“Fine, sorry,” Roman chuffs. “I’ll think of something better.” He can think of a lot better, he just isn’t sure where Dean’s at. The guessing of Dean’s headspace is a dicey gamble at best on even an easy day.

 

Dean isn’t patient enough to wait for Roman to think of something better. He shakes his head and sets the bottle in motion, again only giving it a small push so it’s sure to stop on Roman. “Truth or dare, Big Dog?” 

 

Roman is about to protest because if Dean refuses to do his dare he’s technically cheating him out of a turn. The protest dies nearly as quickly as it formed though because Dean grins at Roman, and there it is. That’s the look Roman has been waiting for. The grin that means trouble is brewing in Dean’s mind. The one that lets him know he may get away with pushing the envelope a bit… or a lot.

 

"Dare," Roman answers resolutely.

 

Dean interlaces his fingers together on the table, leans forward a bit, and licks his lips. Roman is sure that whatever comes out of his mouth next is going to be awful. The grin drops from Dean’s face, then the corner of his mouth ticks up, because he knows he's about to push 3,000 or so buttons. They're all red, they all have that little switch cover that screams "DO NOT TOUCH" but he can't help it. He can’t help it because he’s looking at 265 pounds of gorgeous Samoan muscle staring back at him, and fuck him if his best friend doesn’t have all of his stupid heart. 

 

“Dare, Dean. Dare.” Roman repeats adamantly.

 

“Yeah, uh,” Dean hesitates. “I dare ya to step outside with me.”

 

“What?” Roman is incredulous. “I had to go...I forget how many rounds with Anderson tonight, and you want me to step outside?” 

 

“What did I just say?” Dean snarks. “Taking the dare or not?”

 

Roman can’t just turn down a challenge, especially if it’s from Dean.  _ He’d never hear the last of it. Fuck it. The bill is paid. He’s toasty from the drinks. Who cares if it’s chilly out. Fuck it.  _ He gets up and throws his jacket on.

 

“Let’s go, man. Try to keep up, huh.”

 

Roman all but bolts. Surprised by how fast Roman moved and is now heading out the door, Dean grabs his own jacket before jogging to catch up to Roman. Roman is nearly to their shared rental before Dean catches up with him in the parking lot. 

 

“Right,” Roman turns to Dean, his body language open, his voice an invitation. The lot lights illuminate his features with a warm glow despite the cold. He’s relaxed but posturing at the same time. How many times have they gone at it for fun? “Grapple? Throw hands? What?”

 

Dean huffs out a chuckle before placing his hands flat on Roman’s chest and shoving him back up against the SUV door. Roman’s hands are still up, still inviting Dean to pick his match stipulation. Dean’s eyes fall on Roman’s lips - full, bright - and it’s too much. He had planned on being more smooth than this. He’s nearly abandoning the game he started, his thoughts slipping, and he doesn’t even care anymore. He steps forward into Roman’s space, hands still planted on the broad chest. He tilts his head back and glaring slightly at Roman, answers, “I got ya outside. That was all I asked for.”

 

Roman drops his hands onto the caps of Dean’s shoulders. He’s been caught in a technicality. Dean, in fact, didn’t specify what exactly they were stepping outside for. It appears to be his turn in this mishmash game they have going on.  _ How far can he push this? Won’t know unless he sees, right? _

 

With all the grace one would expect from one Roman Reigns, Dean finds himself being rotated and all but pinned against the truck. Roman’s body is so close he can feel their clothes brushing. His face is so close their lips are a fraction of a centimeter from touching. Roman’s hair is falling softly around his face and brushing Dean’s cheeks. Roman moves his hands from Dean’s shoulders to press against the SUV on either side of his head. 

 

“Truth or dare?” It’s whispered so quietly, so softly, Roman’s lips barely move. He’s expending a tremendous amount of effort to speak while not allowing his lips to touch Dean. 

 

Dean wants to speak. He really does, but his tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallows hard before finally gritting out, “Truth.”

 

It takes Roman by surprise. The word “truth”. He would have bet everything he owns on Dean saying “dare”. Yet he doesn’t miss the ragged breath Dean struggles to pull into his lungs after saying it. Doesn’t miss the gleam in his eyes or the unsure way his lips are slightly parted. Roman can roll with the truth. He can ask if that’s what it’s going to take. All this dancing around and twirling of glass bottles isn’t going to get either of them closer to what they want. When he looks Dean in the eye, still so close he can feel his chest rise when he breathes in, and asks, “You want this?” he isn’t even concerned anymore that he’s pushing the envelope. 

 

Dean doesn’t waste a second before breathing out the single word, “Yes.” He swallows hard again before adding, “I dare you.”

 

You can’t dare Roman to do anything he doesn’t already want to do without receiving full effort in return. He’s even letting it slide that Dean is skipping his turn, again. Roman moves his hands from the SUV to hold Dean’s head and finally let’s his mouth fall into Dean’s. He bears his plush lips down fully against Dean’s, gently at first, then as Dean adds pressure back the intensity increases. Roman crowds further into his space wrapping his sturdy arms around the leaner man, as they collide in the sweetest way possible - all lips and tongue and teeth. They’re grasping at one another, unable to get close enough.   

 

When they finally break away, both breathless, and surprised (but not) they remain tightly against each other. Dean’s hands fist in Roman’s shirt as he begs his brain to get a grip and work through the shock. Roman leaves one arm wrapped around Dean’s waist and uses his free hand to shove his hair back out of his way. With his own hair tamed back some he reaches to Dean and softly brushes his bangs out of his eyes. Dean brings his eyes up to meet Romans, his chest heaving, wondering what will happen next. The shock is wearing off now and it’s being replaced by the notion of  _ more _ . 

 

"Do you wanna go now? Out of the parking lot. We uh," Roman clears his throat, "we can continue this at the hotel?" and he finishes the idea like it's a question.

 

It's not even a question to Dean. He absolutely wants to finish this. He tilts his head back to the truck and Roman moves away a bit to retrieve the keys out of his pocket. When he looks back at Dean he’s met with a mischievous grin, and he's holding a familiar shot glass out to Roman. 

 

“Wait, I thought...”

 

“M’ good with my hands, Rome.”


End file.
